


The Living and the Dead

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thought comes to him, unbidden, <i>This is how I’ll lose him. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Living and the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the prompt on tumblr, "Pneumonia is slowly killing his lungs, he's weakened by dehydration, blood loss and hunger - they try to feed him but he can't keep any food down. "That's it", Porthos thinks, five days after Savoy,'That's how I lose him.'"

Aramis comes back to Paris looking dead already. He doesn’t wake up through any of it – through his hair getting chopped off to get at the head wounds, through the surgeon trying to get food down, stitching him up, dressing his wounds, trying to get warmth back into his limbs. He doesn’t respond to any of it, aside from involuntary body flinches at mishandling. And those seem sluggish to how they should be. 

Porthos has seen a lot of death in his life. But that doesn’t mean he’s used to it. He knows the signs, has seen the elderly and children and the healthy die just as equally, just as rotted from the inside out, hopeless and scared. 

Aramis doesn’t move where he’d lain out on his bed. His breathing is shallow. Otherwise, he is still as death. 

The thought comes to him, unbidden, _This is how I’ll lose him._

It’s a strange thought. He does not know Aramis well. They are, tentatively, friends. Porthos has only been here for a few months. In the end, the loss will not be any different from the other twenty who are dead and gone. That Aramis should linger in his thoughts is, likely, because he is right here in front of him.

_This is how I’ll lose him._

It’s an unsettled thought with no source. It should not bother him like this. Not that he would ever rejoice in another musketeer’s death, but – he has seen enough death in his lifetime, that it should not make him turn it over again and again like this. 

_This is how I’ll lose him._

Aramis tilts his head, suddenly, against the pillow, his brow furrowing. He mumbles nonsense words, whines out, his lips chapped and parched, his throat sounding raw around his shaking breath. Porthos watches him. Reaches out and covers him in a blanket, to try to banish the shiver clawing at Aramis’ shoulders. 

Aramis settles again. Porthos scoots his chair closer. Sits. Watches him. 

It should not bother him like this – like the niggling, nagging itch of a scar that won’t heal. 

_This is how I’ll lose him,_ he thinks, and the thought won’t settle. This is how—

He covers Aramis’ hand with his. Says, “Don’t die.” 

It sounds foolish to say it out loud. Porthos has watched many people die. There was only one person he ever said such a command to – and she is dead and gone, only memories to guide him now. He doesn’t move his hand. 

“You can pull through this,” he says, quieter, the thoughts dragging at the back of his head. He can’t shake it. So he stops trying to.

_I won’t lose you like this._


End file.
